She laughed mockingly, but her trepidation didn’t abate. ‘Says the man who’s keeping from leaving. Don’t think I didn’t notice the body-block. I’m warning you—I know Krav Maga.’
Again a tendril of amusement twitched at a corner of his lips. ‘So do I, pequeña. Perhaps we can spar some other time, when we’re both in the mood.’
‘I don’t spar just for the fun of it. I fight to defend myself. Now, either tell me why you’re here wasting my time, and how you know my name, or get out of my way.’
‘Your assailant is long gone. If you wish to report the incident I’m willing to lend you my phone.’
‘No, thanks. If you want to do something useful will yourself into getting out of my way instead, why don’t you?’
Gael shook his head. ‘Not until we’ve talked.’
‘I don’t know who you are or what you could possibly have to talk to me about that involves us standing in a dark, smelly alley.’
She started to skirt him. He let her go until she faced the exit and her perceived freedom.
‘I’m here because you’re of interest to me.’
‘I highly doubt that.’ She took a few steps backwards. Stumbled. Her breath caught as she righted herself. ‘I don’t know what your problem is, but I assure you I’m not worth stalking, if that’s your thing. And the sum total of my worth—which was eighty dollars—is now headed for the other side of the city, thanks to you. Anything else you want won’t be given willingly.’
She retreated a couple more steps, until she stood beneath the single lit bulb gracing the mouth of the alley.
Gael inhaled sharply. He’d thought her performance captivating across the wide expanse of an auditorium. At the time he hadn’t paid much attention to the woman herself. But he was looking now. And up close Goldie Beckett was...something else. Her dark honey-toned skin, even under the poor lighting, was vibrant and silky-smooth, her high cheekbones, velvety pouting lips and determined chin, a perfect enough combination to make his breath snag somewhere in his chest.
He wasn’t by any means new to the art of appreciating beautiful women. His electronic contact lists were filled with more than his fair share of phone numbers from past and possible future conquests. But there was something uniquely enthralling about Goldie Beckett’s face that riveted his attention.
Perhaps it was her eyes. Gael wasn’t sure whether they were blue, or the violet he suspected, but the big, alluring pools, even though they currently glared at him, were nevertheless absorbing enough to keep him staring.
As for her body... She couldn’t be more than five foot five, but even her lack of height—he preferred his women taller—didn’t detract from her attraction. Nor did it diminish the curvy frame currently wrapped in a black sweater and denim skirt in any way.
A torn black sweater, which gaped wide enough at the shoulder to reveal the strap of a lilac-coloured bra and the top of one voluptuous breast.
A thick silence ensued, during which she noticed where his gaze had landed. He admonished himself to get control in the few seconds before her hand snapped up to cover herself.
Her glare intensified even as her other hand crept around her neck and patted in a puzzled search. ‘Oh, great!’ she muttered eventually.
‘Something wrong?’ Gael asked, forcing his gaze from the hand covering her breast.
‘Don’t you mean something else wrong?’ she snapped. ‘Yes, something else is wrong. That...that lowlife didn’t just take my purse, he took my scarf too.’
Again there was a thin tremble in her voice that struck him the wrong way.
She was probably no longer apprehensive of his presence, but she’d been attacked and robbed. A closer scrutiny of her showed another rip in her tights and muddy scuff marks on her skirt and boots.
‘Are you hurt?’
Her mouth pursed and her eyes darkened. She regarded him, debating whether to furnish him with an answer. Slowly her free hand opened to reveal a bloodied deep welt across her palm.
A quiet fury rolled to life in his belly.
He balled his fist in his pocket to stop himself from reaching out to examine the wound more closely. He was absolutely sure she wouldn’t welcome the move. ‘My car is parked over there.’ He indicated with a jerk of chin. ‘If you come with me I’ll get you cleaned up. Before we talk.’
Her laughter mocked again, deeper this time. ‘I’m from New Jersey, Mr...whatever your name is, not Narnia. I don’t step through cupboards or into limos, however flash they look, out of naive curiosity.’
Gael gritted his teeth, reached into his pocket and brought out his business card. ‘My name is Gael Aguilar. I’m working on a project I think you might be interested in. I saw your...performance this afternoon and came back to look for you. The receptionist mentioned you’d just left. I came in this direction in the hope of finding you. Need I go on?’
She eyed him warily.
‘You hesitated before you said “performance”. Why?’